


In The Beginning

by actualtimelady



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Backstory, Evanuris, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Past, Post-Trespasser, pre- veil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 19:09:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5060563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualtimelady/pseuds/actualtimelady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elves are gathering from all over Thedas hoping for a better future for themselves. But whispers and doubt have them requiring an explanation from their new leader.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Beginning

Even from elsewhere in the ruins, the cacophonous noise of many people gathered into a large, singular space was unmistakable. Each day, more and more came to bolster their number, and though some were sent on errands and as spies to the various corners of the world, the number that amassed here continued to grow. They had come for many reasons, but the one shared by most was that they were here for him. They wanted his story. His past. The mystery that is Fen’Harel out in the open for them to taste, to experience, to believe. He knew that it had to be a spy that began this need --one of the Inquisitor’s -- rather, one of Lavellan’s, or, perhaps, one of Devine Victoria’s. It was so difficult to reconcile the title changes in his mind lately, so stuck in the recent past as he was. Fi Lavellan was no longer the Inquisitor, as there was no longer an Inquisition. Leliana was no longer her spymaster, as she was the latest Devine. Regardless who it was (and he could not be entirely sure the two didn’t equate to one) those who had gathered in the last months had their demands. 

As his advisors explained it to him: it had gotten out that Solas was the Fen’Harel of myth. The oft cursed Dread Wolf, the bane of all Dalish pride and work. What they needed was the story. The truth. The reasons he was here, why things ended up the way they had. How things had gone from bad to worse and what, exactly, his role was in it all. He cursed his own legacy and what he had wrought on so many, what he had planned to bring to both an end and a new beginning. Perhaps, when one really thought hard about it, there was truth to the old Dalish curse: “May the Dread Wolf take you”, indeed.

As he entered the large dining hall, the warm glow of greens and golds mingled among every skin tone and hair color imaginable. So many of them had come; escaped from alienages and slave-holdings, driven from shops and taverns and the bedsides of human lovers… and yes, even from the Dalish. Some even bringing entire clans, aravels and all. They had come for the promise --no, not even that: the barest hint of a promise --that the mage who made the room fall silent could possibly be the key to their salvation. The key to bringing back what they all once were. What they could be again. The faith was both awe-inspiring and terrible, the crushing weight of so many dreams riding once more on his shoulders. He’d had a solution even then: creating the veil. And when that failed, he was going to let someone else tear it down. Both were failures on an arguably extreme scale, and yet here they all were. Past failures didn’t change his future plans, however. He intended to lift the veil and give back what he had so mistakenly stolen from Elves across Thedas so long ago: their connection to the fade. The woman he loved had been so sure that trying would be the only option to fix what was broken, even in the face of repeated failure. He wouldn’t disregard her suggestions, even if she didn’t know what she was inviting him to do so many years ago when she told him what she would do if she failed in her attempts to make the world right again. How could she? He had lied so well and right to her face, and when he’d had the opportunity to set things right and bring her to his side as he amassed power of his own he had failed to do that as well. He knew it was for the better, but…

So, he would address those gathered, give them what they desired. Doors were opened ahead of them as he finally entered the large room and he strode without haste among those gathered. Each step that echoed in the chamber had more and more silence following in its wake until they were the only sound to be made. The resemblance to his former life was enough to throw him back to where he needed to be to tell the story: years may have passed, but the scene was still the same. The silence that held so much tension and excitement that electricity could be felt charging the air around them. The elves, both marked and clear, freed and still yet beholden looking to their rebel leader for a word of comfort in what was sure to be a trying time to come. A role of thousands of years ago, slipped on and worn familiar as an old, favorite coat. He was even growing his hair back in, though he had barely two inches of length yet to speak of.

It wasn’t only vanity that was inspiring the change in look. When he succeeded, he wanted the Evanuris to see. To remember. To know. His face was older --there was more wear in the lines and more seen with his eyes, but not much else had changed. They would know when they saw. Their Dread Wolf was back once more, ready to take on whatever they had to throw at him.

Ah, but he was ahead of himself.

“There have been many questions, I am told,” He began without any real ceremony. He continued to walk among those gathered --past those along the wall and between those sat at rows of tables. Solas felt he hadn’t earned the right yet to stand at their head and make grand speeches. Soon, but not yet. “Questions about me. About the Creators. About the Dread Wolf. And I feel you are entitled to these answers.

“Most of what you’ve heard is completely true. Once, thousands of years ago, The moniker was given to me: Fen’Harel. The Dread Wolf. An insult and a badge of pride that I wore as a part of my armor. But perhaps I am ahead of myself. The story you seek starts much earlier. Back when I was but Solas. An Apprentice. A young man seeking only to better his station and that of his family. A young man whose potential sparked excitement and speculation as to what that potential would mean for the future,” Solas scanned the room --his audience, those that would be his people, had begun whispering among themselves.

There were spies here --not just old inquisition, but Qunari. Orlesian. Ferelden. Tevinter. Spies from every state in the Free Marches and from, he was sure, every other state imaginable. They, too, would know of the lies and truths of the past. Of what would befall them in the coming months. They would know that the Dalish gods were not gods but their return would bring destruction just like that of a God’s wrath, and that it would be his doing and why he was doing it.

“And so our tale begins.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be a one-shot with an overview of a story, but the setup alone got me to 1000 words, and so have a fic. I intend to delve all the way into Solas's past, right up to the time he created the veil.
> 
> There will be some references to another fic of mine called Fade (not yet published) when we bring things to present-day occasionally, but it should not be necessary to read that fic when those times come --hopefully I will explain things well enough then.


End file.
